


how to be a human being

by missakwatson



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, that's an understatement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missakwatson/pseuds/missakwatson
Summary: Now that they met as allies, rather than enemies, Arcann found himself enjoying the exertion. He realized with a small thrill that Alara was enjoying it too—a cocky smile played at the corners of her mouth as she reeled around in a complicated backhand maneuver.A few moments later, Arcann gained the upper hand when the Commander overcorrected and set her stance too wide—this was his opportunity. He easily batted away her poorly balanced strike and spun behind her, aiming the practice blade squarely between her shoulder blades—and froze.***Do you ever turn into the kind of writer who sits down and blacks out and all of a sudden realizes they've written like 10 pages on the healing power of friendship and the nature of morality? Because... same.
Relationships: Arcann & Female Jedi Knight, Arcann & The Outlander
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> howdy ho good neighbors! here's... *gestures vaguely* whatever this is!
> 
> note: there isn't any explicit romantic content in this story, so you could read this as pre-slash or platonic, but there is some one-sided description of physical attraction. so if arcann/outlander is way not your jam, this might not float your boat.
> 
> lightly beta'ed, sorry for any mistakes! (note 9/21: replaying kotfe and realized i made some errors in chapter 2, so i'm fixing those, whoops. however, i really and truly had it in my head that arcann stabs you through the back, not the front, so i'm keeping that.)

_Arcann,_

_Sorry for the short notice, but do you have any time to meet me in the sparring field later?_

_— Alara_

***

Arcann was surprised when the message flashed up on his datapad.

He wasn’t sure exactly what the Commander had in mind, but the location was enough information on its own. Arcann supposed it made sense—though they’d fought side-by-side more than once out of necessity, they had yet to spend time training one-on-one the way the Commander did with Lana or her former padawan. 

If he was being fully honest with himself, he was excited at the prospect of spending time with the Commander, especially in a literal and figurative arena where he felt comfortable. For once, he would have something of use to offer her. Even if it was just for a little while, he could forget that the rest of the Alliance saw him as a hindrance or an object of thinly veiled distrust. His Commander needed him, and that was enough.

***

_Commander,_

_I am, as always, at your disposal whenever you desire. Please let me know what time I should meet you, and I will be ready._

_\- Arcann_

***

Alara read Arcann’s message with a faint smile. Always so deferential, and, well—if the message had come from anyone else, Alara might have been tempted to interpret it as suggestive, but she knew Arcann only to be disarmingly earnest in all their interactions since returning to Odessen.

The Commander stretched and stifled a yawn. Her schedule was shockingly light for once, and she wanted to take advantage of the afternoon by finally training with both Arcann and Senya. She’d been able to learn bits and pieces from the older woman in the field, but she was craving a deeper understanding of the Knights’ brutally efficient combat style. Lana had teased her when she mentioned it—“just what you need, Commander, more aggression”—but ever since her time in the wilds with Master Satele and Darth Marr, her fixation on expanding her knowledge had only rooted itself deeper. Now, between Sana-Rae and her apprentices, their Sith allies, and the Zakuul contingent, the opportunity to learn from other Force users was tantalizingly close.

She confirmed a meeting time with Senya before dashing off a response to Arcann. They would meet in a few hours—but first, the Alliance Commander needed a nap.

***

As Arcann strode into the training arena, he was distantly aware that his pulse had ticked up a notch in a combination of anticipation and anxiety. _Control yourself,_ he scolded, taking a moment to shore up the mental barriers of detachment and focus he had spent so long honing. 

The problem, though, was how unanchored those barriers now felt without the foundation of sheer rage he had built them upon—rage at his father, rage at the Outlander, rage at Vaylin. It was unsettling, and though he immediately discarded the idea, he wished he could discuss the issue candidly with the Commander. He felt the strength of her connection with the Force without even needing to try—whatever had happened that brought her beyond Jedi and Sith, light and dark, had only refined that connection. Anyone else would have been destroyed by it, he was certain. His weakness would be foreign to her.

His steps faltered for a moment when he spotted Senya standing in the arena. She nodded as their eyes met before returning her focus to the armor plate she was carefully fastening in place. Arcann tried not to allow any disappointment to breach the surface of his emotions—it made sense that the Commander would want to train with both of them, given her close relationship with Senya. _And of course she doesn’t want to be alone with you_ , he reminded himself. 

He rolled his shoulders and tried to shake off the sour feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach. Either way, the Commander had requested his presence, and it was his duty to perform to the best of his ability in whatever capacity she requested. As he waited for her to arrive, he began working through a familiar series of warm up exercises, troubled thoughts quickly fading behind the rote motions. Whatever she had in mind, he would be ready.

***

Alara picked up her pace to a steady jog as she approached the sparring room. She was running a little late, which had become an unfortunate habit, but she didn’t want to abuse her influence by making Senya and Arcann wait for her any longer than necessary. She didn’t regret the nap, though—it had infused her with a much-needed rush of energy, even though she had been reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed.

Her companions both noticed as soon as she stepped through the threshold, heads turning in an uncanny synchronicity she was positive neither of them was aware of. She suppressed a grin and greeted the pair with a small wave instead.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, both of you. I haven’t had as much time to train with either of you as I would like, so when Lana told me I didn’t have any meetings this afternoon, I wanted to be sure I took advantage of it.”

Senya bowed her head toward the Jedi. “Of course, Commander. We—along with the rest of the Knights—are always at your disposal.” 

Alara couldn’t stifle her smile this time—Senya had echoed her son’s words without knowing it, a testament to both their similarity and devotion to her. It was a little overwhelming at times, if she were being completely honest, but not in a bad way. Though she tried to balance her favor equitably among all of the Alliance members—even the ones who didn’t seem to care for her all that much—it was hard not to feel possessive of those in her inner circle.

Arcann stood with his arms crossed and regarded her silent. He was never particularly chatty with her, but she still noted an additional thread of tension in his posture. _I hope he’s alright,_ she mused, _not that he would tell me_.

Even after all these months, their relationship still confused Alara. Arcann’s devotion to both the Alliance and its Commander was clear, but she knew there were still things he was holding back. That was part of why Alara wanted to begin training together—the more practiced they were at fighting together, the more everyone would be comfortable with Arcann accompanying Alara on missions. If there was one thing she was good at, it was wearing people down, and she wasn’t going to give up on getting to know Arcann yet.

 _Well. I guess we should just get started, then_ , she decided, clapping her hands together. “Alright. Practice blades, and nothing Force-reliant yet. I want you to work on my pike skills.” 

***

Sweat rolled down Arcann’s neck as he gritted his teeth and swiveled to parry the Commander’s backhand slash. After several slower demonstrations with Senya, Arcann and Alara had been sparring uninterrupted for several minutes. He was almost disconcerted by how taxing he found the exercise, but he had never forgotten how relentless of a fighter the Outlander was. At times, she seemed to bolster herself through sheer stubbornness, forcing her opponent back and disrupting his balance just long enough for her to rear back and launch a renewed assault.

Now that they met as allies, rather than enemies, Arcann found himself enjoying the exertion. He realized with a small thrill that she was enjoying it too—a cocky smile played at the corners of her mouth as she reeled around in a complicated backhand maneuver. 

A few moments later, Arcann gained the upper hand when the Commander overcorrected and set her stance too wide—this was his opportunity. He easily batted away her poorly balanced strike and spun behind her, aiming the practice blade squarely between her shoulder blades—and froze.

_“Ah!” An anguished scream tore from deep within the Outlander’s lungs. Arcann’s lightsaber burst through the woman’s chest as unbridled rage coursed through his veins. He rounded her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, as the Jedi stumbled forward. The scent of charred flesh filled his nose, distracting him from the tornado of raw power that whirled into the room in the form of a tall blonde woman. His eyes widened as lightening leapt from her fingertips, sending a wall of durasteel careening toward him._

_Everything went black._

“Arcann?” The Commander’s voice, uncharacteristically timid, broke through Arcann’s reverie. He realized his hand was shaking as he dropped the practice blade, staggering back as if it had burned him.

“I—” his throat was dry, and he felt himself unable to force any more words past his lips. He could feel Senya’s gaze, heavy with concern, but his eyes were still fixed on the Commander. A moment passed before he saw understanding flare in her eyes. Before she had the chance to reply, Arcann turned, and fled.


	2. Always in Motion

Alara’s chest heaved as she stood transfixed, brow furrowed as the broad line of Arcann’s shoulders grew more and more distant. _Blast it, I should have known—_ Alara felt the gentle pressure of Senya’s hand holding her back as she moved to follow Arcann.

“Wait, Commander. You’ll have an easier time talking with him if you give him time to calm down first.”

She felt her shoulders slump. Senya was right, but it made her feel horribly raw—her first instinct was always to protect, to shelter, and leaving Arcann at the mercy of whatever had just overcome him felt wrong. 

“Is he alright?” Alara’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Senya shrugged. “I’m not sure. But the look on his face—he looked terrified. Like he was seeing a ghost.”

 _A ghost._ Senya’s observation confirmed her initial assumption. Alara scrubbed a hand over her face and growled in frustration. “When we fought each other in the control spar, that’s how it ended. Well, it ended with Lana dropping part of the ceiling on him, but the fight—he stabbed me through the back.”

The older woman’s features were tight. “It will never match the pain he caused you, but as he heals… I fear he’ll begin to feel it too as he comes to terms with his past.”

Alara nodded. Senya’s insight was carefully considered and most likely correct, as usual. “I think you’re right. I just had no idea—if I knew this would trigger him in such a way, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Senya cupped Alara’s shoulder again, the gesture imbued with a maternal comfort Alara tucked away behind her ribcage. “He knows it wasn’t your intention. He’s so eager to prove himself to you. Please, don’t let this color your opinion of him. The two of you should speak when he’s ready.”

The Commander sighed, but nodded in assent. “I will. Thank you, Senya.”

The older woman nodded, giving Alara’s shoulder a final squeeze before turning away. Alara would give him time—as much as she could stand, at least—but she was determined to clear the air before her fragile companionship with Arcann was shattered.

***

_Arcann,_

_I’m so sorry for putting you in a position that caused you distress today. I hope we’ll be able to speak soon, and I’m confident that whatever you’re experiencing, we can move past it together._

_— Alara_

***

_Commander,_

_Please, do not feel the need to apologize. The regret is mine, and as I’m sure you have realized, it encompasses the actions I took against you prior to our alliance. The Voss healing ritual accomplished many things, but it could not touch the shame I feel for all the times I threatened you. It is something I will carry for the rest of my life, and I apologize for burdening you with this show of weakness._

_If you are not deterred from being in my presence, I am available whenever you wish to speak._

_\- Arcann_

***

Alara released a growl of frustration as she read Arcann’s message. The situation was fraught enough without his insistence on self-flagellation, but it appeared that habit would be harder to break than she initially anticipated.

“Is something wrong, Commander?” Sana-Rae inquired with her usual gentle demeanor.

Alara shook her head. “No, nothing’s wrong.” She paused and squinted at the mystic, a woman who she had come to trust and confide in during their time training the Alliance’s Force users together. “It’s Arcann. He had a bit of an… episode today. We were sparring, and I think he had a memory of a time he wounded me. A very vivid memory.”

Sana-Rae closed her eyes and nodded. “I see. I passed him earlier today. He felt deeply troubled, but I did not wish to disturb him further.”

The Jedi chewed absentmindedly at her lip. “I haven’t spoken to him in person yet, but I sent him a message to check on him. He mentioned the healing ritual—he said it wasn’t able to heal everything.”

“Nor is it designed to. The ritual allows us to direct as much of our power as we can manage toward the subject, but they must submit. And the damage, Commander, ran deep. Arcann surrendered his body willingly, but there were parts of his mind he did not allow us to touch. These core memories—some of his family, some of his struggle with you—are burdens he has chosen to bear.”

Alara sighed. “That does sound like him. I don’t blame him, I just—I wish I had known.”

Sana-Rae lifted her palms and gestured toward the Commander. “Now you know. You must both heal from these wounds together, but I believe it is possible.”

“It sounds so simple when you say it, Sana-Rae.”

The Voss woman offered a small smile. “The path is not simple, Commander. But it is clear.”

***

The nerves had returned, causing Arcann’s heart to race and his stomach to contract. He had felt a shameful rush of relief when he received her first message— _she’s not discarding you, yet_ —but he was dreading the familiar emotions he knew this conversation would unearth.

He had asked if the Commander would meet him outside the base, in the clearing near the shuttle landing pad where they had spoken all those months ago, and she readily obliged. The Alliance base had quickly begun to feel like home, but Arcann noticed himself feeling more and more penned in now that he had free access to the wilds and woods of Odessen. It was such a contrast to that horrible throne room he had spent so much time in, and he was surprised at how much strength he drew from being grounded. It would be easiest to speak freely here, where the environment soothed him.

Arcann heard the Commander’s soft footfalls as soon as she stepped off the lift, but he refrained from turning to her until she had settled cross-legged beside him. He supposed it was undignified, implying that the Alliance Commander should sit on the ground with him, but Alara had never struck him as a stickler for most formalities. Even in her elevated position, she was disarmingly genuine—excitable, candid, and a little rash in equal measure.

When he allowed himself to face the Jedi, he was forced to throttle the wave of admiration that passed through him. The Commander was beautiful—that was a fact Arcann considered objective, and he allowed himself to think it without feeling ashamed of his familiarity. Her features were pleasant, her round face elevated by high cheekbones and amber eyes that sparkled with her frequent laughter. Her mouth was full, brows delicately arched, and her brunette hair was undeniably lustrous even as she always kept it carefully pulled back. These were all simply traits she possessed, and along with the notable curves of her waist and hips, created a visage of aesthetic perfection that anyone could see. 

Arcann had done his best to desensitize himself of any attraction, but seeing her like this, with the planes of her face illuminated by the late afternoon light, forced him to confront how striking she was all over again. As she tilted her head back and hummed in contentment, basking in the warmth of the sun, Arcann allowed his eyes to follow the line of her nose down to her mouth and over her throat. _Focus_ , he reminded himself, tearing his eyes away from the soft looking spot where her neck met her shoulder. _You don’t get to look at her that way._

Arcann searched for the right words, but it was Alara who broke the silence first. “It’s beautiful out. You had the right idea.”

He felt her eyes on him as he nodded. “It’s easier for me to collect my thoughts here.”

The Commander tilted her head. “What’s on your mind, Arcann?” 

The softness in her voice when she spoke his name, the kind of tone he presumed one would reserve for a friend, set him at ease.

Arcann fixed his gaze in the distance as he spoke. “I apologize for how I behaved earlier. I— I should have at least stayed to explain my reaction, even if I couldn’t control it.”

Alara plucked at a few strands of grass. “Was it a memory?”

“Yes.” Arcann swallowed around the lump that rose in his throat, unbidden. “Holding the blade to your back, my mind— It’s like it transported me back to that fight. I thought I killed you. I would have killed you, had Valkorion decided not to intervene.”

Beside him, the Jedi was silent for a few moments. “Has that ever happened before? A flashback like that?”

Arcann shook his head. “Not like that. I still have nightmares, frequently, about battles we fought or— about Thexan.” _About when you_ killed _Thexan_ , he reminded himself. “Once I dreamed about killing Valkorion, but when I looked down at the body, it was your lifeless eyes staring back at me.” 

Admitting these visions that haunted him filled Arcann with shame, but the Commander deserved to know. She deserved to know the level of depravity he could never forget he possessed, and the way his mind forced him to relive his cruelest moments even as he slept. 

He nearly flinched away as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. When he risked a glance at the Jedi, he found her studying him plainly, not with anger or even fear. Her gaze was open, searching, but Arcann wasn’t sure what she expected to find.

“I dream too. It’s gotten better, much better, since I killed him, but my mind still clings to some of the memories he showed me.”

Arcann shuddered. “I’m sorry. His foul presence poisoned everything he touched.”

The Commander raised an eyebrow. “But when you speak to me now, you don’t consider me poisoned, do you?”

He shook his head harshly. “Of course not. You didn’t choose any of it.”

“Then you have to understand, Arcann. I want to know what you’re struggling with, no matter what it is, but not because I think it’s a weakness. It’s because I want you to work through it, to heal.”

For a moment, it felt like the air had left Arcann’s lungs. _What is she even saying?_ This, all of this, was his fault. “Commander. You know that our situations aren’t the same. The burden you bear is a result of what my father forced upon you. I am facing the consequences of my own actions, and I deserve to shoulder whatever pain it brings me. I’m the reason he was able to invade you, and I—I alone am responsible for the path of destruction I took.”

Alara’s brow furrowed. “I’m not disputing that Valkorion's death sparked the events that followed. And I won’t deny that you have much to atone for—although I also know how twisted your upbringing was, and we can debate that later if you want.” 

She paused, a look of hesitation passing over her features before she inhaled sharply and continued. “But seizing my mind—he saw an opportunity, and he took it. Sometimes I even think he orchestrated our first meeting so the three of us would be alone, in one room together, to bait us into killing him. The Emperor was relentless, and he would have found a way back to me whether Valkorion died that day, or three decades later.”

Arcann stilled. “Back to you?”

The Commander stared into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Years ago, when I was still a student, the Emperor trapped me on his ship when a group of Jedi and I tried to ambush him. The possession was—it was far more thorough than Valkorion’s presence in my mind. I was so consumed that I didn’t even realize it had happened. I learned and did horrible things, Arcann.” A barely-suppressed shudder rippled across the woman’s features. “If Lord Scourge hadn’t been monitoring me, the Emperor would have completed his mission to make me his vessel then and there.”

Arcann felt his fist clench uselessly at his side as a wave of rage washed over him. Knowing that the Jedi had suffered Valkorion’s presence was bad enough. The idea of him possessing her so fully that her very identity—her insightful, brave, selfless personality—was erased, made him want to vomit.

When he found himself able to speak, his voice was rough with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Alara shook her head. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel guilty. I carried so much shame about what happened for so long. Shame that I was too weak to accomplish our mission and defeat him. Shame that I wasn’t strong enough to resist his possession. But if it hadn’t happened, I don’t think I would have been able to keep Valkorion at bay for so long. It was a horrible thing, but it did make me stronger. Strong enough to be the person I needed to be.”

“You have a way of turning horrible circumstances into an opportunity,” Arcann noted.

The Commander huffed. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. Truth be told, it’s become something I cling to. Something that anchors me to myself.”

“I spent so long using rage as my anchor. But now…” Arcann trailed off, unable to articulate the enormity of the transformation he had undergone since joining the Alliance.

The Commander shrugged. “Rage works for some people. It works for the Sith. If I were still a proper Jedi, I would tell you to seek serenity instead.”

“And as an improper Jedi?”

Alara laughed and gestured in front of her. “You can try serenity. Peace. But I think you need to work through your past first in order to find them. Only you can determine what anchors you to the Force. But I feel the goodness in you, the desire for change. I think you can use those as a source of strength. Not shame.”

Arcann felt the weight of her eyes on him before she continued, voice tender in a way that made him ache. “You have to choose, Arcann. You can drown in despair over your past if that’s what you desire, but you can never change it. The future, though—the future is always in motion. Every day can be one more step toward who you want to be, and away from who you were.”

As Arcann turned the Jedi’s words over in his mind, he felt a swell of hope unlike anything he could remember. He had changed, he knew he had, but to hear her articulate her faith in his transformation so calmly—it settled something inside him that had felt disjointed ever since arriving on Odessen. “Thank you, Commander.” His voice felt thick in his throat, but he made no effort to hide it. “I will never understand the mercy you have shown me, but I will always try to be worthy of your choice.”

Alara drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “For a long time, mercy was the easy choice, simply because I was a Jedi. But allowing Senya to save you was the first time I felt like I had to answer for it—not just to the Alliance, to my crew, but to myself. I know there are those who think it made me weak, but it’s rarely that simple.” 

She peered at Arcann, and this time, he found the strength to meet her eyes. “When I chose to let you go, it was an act of faith, in Senya and in you. I had faith that if anyone could redeem you, it was her. I had faith that if she said you still had good left inside of you, it might be true. And when I made my decision, I bound myself to you, in a way. I felt responsible for ensuring that you would find that goodness. But I always felt at peace with my decision, even if others questioned it. Which they did,” she emphasized with a raised eyebrow.

Arcann was taken aback once more at the casual ease with which she dispensed such carefully considered wisdom. He fell silent for a few moments as he grappled with the newfound inspiration he felt flowing through him. “You’ve given me much to think about, Commander.”

She smiled. “I want to respect your boundaries. You have to set them, and enforce them, for yourself. But I meant what I said. I feel it’s my duty to help you heal, for the Alliance, and…” Alara hesitated for a moment. “And as your friend.”

Arcann felt his face heat at the declaration. He would never have dared call the Commander friend, but once it was won, she wielded her affection so freely and honestly. He nodded, swallowing past the emotion that had risen once again in his chest. Today had been so much, and it exhausted him, but he felt a renewed sense of lightness, as well. Alara was his friend. Alara wanted to help him, even if it meant confronting the ugliest parts of his past.

“I—I understand. And I wish to continue serving at your side however I can. But—“ Arcann frowned. “This incident today took me by surprise. I don’t believe I’m a danger to you, but I don’t wish to repeat it.” Admitting his doubts released a surge of shame, but it also brought relief—and he chose to focus on the relief, letting it carry him like a wave as it passed through his awareness. 

The Jedi nodded. “I understand. I don’t believe you are, either, but if we can stop you from suffering in this way, I’d like to try. I have a few ideas we can start with, if you’re willing. We may be able to take a medical approach, and between all our Force users, I think we can help you develop a way to isolate and examine some of your memories. Not destroy them, but…”

“—strip them of their power.” Excitement tinged Arcann’s voice as he realized the potential of the Commander’s suggestion. It wasn’t a guaranteed solution, but it certainly held promise.

Alara grinned. “Exactly. See? We already make a great team.”

Arcann ducked his head and hoped the Commander didn’t notice the flush rising up his neck. “It would appear so.”

After a few minutes, the incessant tone of the Commander’s holo interrupted the companionable silence that stretched between them. Alara grimaced as she opened the channel and Hylo Visz’ image flickered to life. 

“Sorry to bother you, Commander, but I got another lead on that pirate brigade I told you about. I think it’s worth checking out, but they’re moving fast.”

“I understand. I’m just outside the hangar. I’ll meet you inside in a few minutes.”

Alara sighed as she clipped the device back onto her belt. “I knew an evening of freedom was too good to be true.” She bounced smoothly to her feet, offering Arcann a hand as he stared up at her.

“Would you like me to accompany you to meet with Hylo?” he asked, taking the Commander’s hand and settling closer to her than he intended. They were almost the same height, but he still had to tilt his head down to meet her warm eyes. To his silent delight, she clapped him on the shoulder before stepping away, smile radiant as the fading autumn sunlight.

“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! and here's some of my thought process that literally no one asked for: long story short(er) i just finished playing all of the game content we have thus far. onslaught was... well, we can talk about that elsewhere. but after i finished playing, i realized i was disappointed in the lack of ongoing development given to the OG crew, including arcann (and senya). for as quickly as they toss in a romance option, there's not a lot of time given to the whole "reckoning with being a very bad person for most of my life" thing. what would those conversations look like? what would the path to healing actually entail for someone so broken? by the end of kotet, i ended up really liking arcann and wanting to know more about his recovery, and, like they always say, when the game does not provide, we must write it ourselves. 
> 
> maybe it's just me who says that. but anyway, here we are. maybe i should get a tumblr for all these opinions...
> 
> as is my habit, the title is an album title (not a song lyric! progress?!). the phrase got stuck in my head and i definitely think it applies to not only this person with a very dark past trying to follow the path of redemption, but also to the outlander—someone who's spent so much time with others relying upon them and their power, but now (hopefully, in my head) has more space to figure out how to just... be. anyway, glass animals' album "how to be a human being" is masterpiece material, so def give it a listen if you haven't :)


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